Pretty soon, I'm going to write a post on Bambamblog about my kids, aged almost 4 and 6 1/2, my beautiful and funny and happy and ... lucky kids. So, so lucky. I'll write about their latest antics, and it will be lighthearted because in my own life, I am feeling very lighthearted these days, after a few tougher than usual years. Tougher than usual in this world, over here, in Canada, and even then, only tougher than usual for me. But I don't think I'll be alone today in feeling surreal in what I am doing, and in my freedom and ability to do it. It feels weird, given Pakistan today and Australia yesterday, and given really a shitstorm in so many places in the Middle East and parts of Africa, to not just stop. Just stop, and not be able to move or process what's around us, in our everydays, because in this very same world is monstrous insanity and it is impossible that it is happening, that people can do this to each other, to children, to mothers, to grandfathers—anyone, so long as it moves and can make a point if destroyed. The wildly unfathomable incompatibility of our lucky lives with those of so many other people. So many of us (I think) are thinking this, but carrying it around quietly, and/or helplessly when we do talk about what's to be done. But no one knows what is to be done. No one does. And this, too, is inconceivable. But of course we can't stop, and nor should we, but oh I had to write this because I am so sick at heart for the lives, and lives lost, of so many people. It is the world, and it was always thus, I hear, and it is very much possible because it is happening. I guess what you do is cling madly to your life, and never, ever take it for granted, and think every day, every single day, about what you can do to put something good into the world. It is not enough. But it is something.